Healing All But One
by coffeeisyum
Summary: Eowyn has learned a unique power of healing. She travels with Aragorn and the soldiers so that she may heal as needed. The soldiers turn on her, accusing her of evil sorcery. Which side will Aragon take? Sauron seeks to destroy this powerful instrument...
1. Ressurection

I had learned to fight, but I had also learned to heal. The tight grip of the sword, the hard stroke of a swing, the anger inside that poured itself through my body…all of who I was seemed unfitting for hands that needed to heal. I soon learned that healing had nothing to do with the hands; the hands were simply the instrument of the knowledge I had learned.

I would never tell _them_ the immense power that coursed through my body when I laid my hands on the sick, or the pricking of my fingers as I brushed them against gushing wounds. I had nothing to hide, but I knew how the world looked on things that were unexplainable or different. I decided to let them think it was my knowledge of herbs that brought the wounded "back from the dead."

I had never healed more than a few severely wounded at a time. I now looked over the balcony toward Pelennor Fields; bodies were strewn across the battlefield and were being picked over and brought inside. I wondered where the men would be brought; the Houses of Healing could hold no more. All the beds were moved out to accommodate more soldiers. Now, every inch seemed to be covered with bloody, broken bodies. When I retired at night to my bed, I often wondered how uncomfortable sleeping on the floor would be, with only straw to support my aching body. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, pushing the depressing thoughts from my mind. My soul already felt overwhelmed with grief, and I needed to focus or I wouldn't be able to heal those who needed me. I tucked a few loose strands back into my hair and turned to walk inside.

I placed my fingers in a bowl of water and caressed the face of a man who was sweating feverishly: A sword wound had barely missed his heart. I crunched a few leaves, which emitted a spicy aroma, and settled them into his wound. I whispered in his ear to relax. The creases in his forehead disappeared, but his body was still tense.

"Have a rest," the soft spoken voice of the elderly man who tended to the linen cleaning came from behind. It was distracting, and I tried to focus my attentions back on the wounded body before me. I closed my eyes and placed my hands on his wound. I thought of his pain until it became my own, then I placed one hand over my chest and the other on his. I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing…

"Child, will you not take a rest-"

"No!" came a rough voice. I opened my eyes, confused that the voice had come from me. I looked over my shoulder at the elderly man bending over his cane. "I apologize," I said, bending slightly into a bow. "I am troubled and weary."

When I stood up, I saw that the old man was smiling. "Do not apologize. I find working here as difficult as fighting on the battlefield. But listen at me, I'm just an old man who scrubs the linens." He chuckled to himself and picked up a bundle of dirty bandages and blankets that had been thrown in the corner for cleaning. "There are other healers and, my lady, you do look exhausted. Why not let the others take over? They wish to help but cannot be admitted until others leave."

So many bodies needed tended to, and yet because of the overcrowded compartment only a few were allowed in at a time. I wiped the sweat from my forehead, and dripped more water on the forehead of the man I was tending. I had been asked so many times to be relieved so that others may take over. I knew my exhaustion was making me slow – but they do not understand that the soldiers need _me_. The other healers will be helping to only relieve pain or stop further infection; they will not be _healing_ the soldiers.

"I will leave as soon as I finish tending this man."

The man walked out quickly, leaving me to assume that he must have been sent in here, like the countless others, by the other healers to relieve me of my duty. After I finished healing the soldier-not just his wound, but his broken spirit and mind-I slowly raised up. I picked up the herbs and placed them accordingly into my bag. When the door opened, I began to raise my herbs in surrender to signal I was leaving. However, a man was urgently being carried inside – accompanied by a few worried faces. The men stayed at the door unsure where to step to make it over to the fallen man who was being settled near me.

"Do not worry, my lady. The Lord Aragorn will tend this man." As the man finished his sentence, Aragorn pushed through the doors urgently. I wondered why he had not taken the time to clean and prepare himself before tending to the wounded, then I recalled my own appearance. His arms were smeared with dirt and his shirt was stained with blood. He hastily walked over to the man who had been brought in and asked for a number of herbs. I tossed my bag over to him, and when he looked up his face seemed to change. "My lady," he said tilting his head slightly foreword.

My heart was cold and hollow as I stood watching Aragorn tend to the soldier. I do not know if it was my exhaustion, or the feelings of injustice for the countless men I had tended who had to suffer unbearable pain, or a mix of both. Aragorn had left me hopeless and desolate. Moreover, he left me weak. With the broken pieces he had shattered from leaving me crying and in pain, I rebuilt myself into something strong. Here, the soldiers needed me. With the ability to heal, I had a purpose in life. And I would continue becoming stronger.

"Who is this man?" I asked with a tone that must have been as icy as I felt, for everyone stood silently. After a minute, one of the men standing at the door cleared his throat. "It is the steward of Gondor, my lord Faramir."

"You heal but royalty, my lord?" I turned my eyes back to Aragorn.

There was silence for a minute.

"I heal others," said Aragorn quietly.

I imagine Aragorn must have thought I was instigating a fight because of the anger I fostered from his rejection. I was not really sure why I felt so angry. I restrained myself, however, and walked outside. I asked the men standing at the gate to leave because the compartment was too crowded and the wounded needed air.

I sat down on some steps not far from the Houses of Healing. I breathed deeply the cold night air. It felt refreshing in my lungs and against my skin. I do not know how long I sat there looking at the moon, too tired to move, but I was stirred by a voice that sent my heart racing.

"I was searching for you." The voice belonged to Aragorn. It was quiet and soft as if he were still talking to one of the wounded. I felt tired, but my voice came out strong. I would not be pitied.

"Yes?" I said, looking up.

He seemed to avert my gaze. Looking at the trees from beyond the ledge he asked, "I hear you haven't slept for a few days. What ails you?"

"You wish to cure me?" I asked in disbelief.

"I wish to listen," he said simply.

"Do not trouble yourself. I can sleep, but I have not only because my duty requires that I heal all I can. Should I let them die, so I can take a rest?"

"But there are other healers," said Aragorn taking a seat next to me on the step.

"Yes," I said unsure how to phrase my response. I did not want to seem arrogant. I could tell from the looks of the other healers that they fancied I imagined myself the best healer. I decided to remain silent.

After a few moments, he stood up and walked away.

...

I was pained to see the defeat in her eyes. She seemed but a ghost now, a white entity, walking between worlds feeling a death and sadness in the air that no one else could see. I wanted to help her, but she would not let me in. I do not think she will ever let me in again.

I was surprised at how energized I became after a bath and a fresh change of clothes. I had been thinking of Eowyn's words: "Do you heal but royalty, my lord?" the voice reverberated in my head and struck my heart. Do I heal only royalty? I was always called on to heal the _important_. I had never been called on to heal any others. Were the royalty more important? Or did they think I needn't be interrupted unless royalty were dying? I felt a sad at the truthfulness of her words. I felt shameful about my priorities. I had seen the compartment full of wounded and yet retired after I had healed Faramir.

...

I walked to the Houses of Healing to check in on Faramir. I knew I would be healing more. I was not driven by guilt, but a sudden urge to help the men who had wives, children, and many years to live; men who needn't be saved just for having royal blood.

I do not know how long I slept. I quickly dressed in my lightest gown. I knew the compartments were hot, so I clipped my hair back. When I approached the Houses of Healing, I began rolling up my sleeves, ready to face the oncoming heat.

It was early morning, so I did not expect many to be attending the sick. Usually, healers leave to let the sick rest through the night and return in the morning. I was surprised to see Aragorn bent over a man, speaking softly to him. I walked past him and looked over the sleeping bodies for anyone that needed tended to. They all seemed to be sleeping, and I did not wish to disturb any. I felt odd standing in the middle of the floor with nothing to do. Aragorn must have noticed my hesitation.

"I have taken care of those who were awake," he said quietly, standing up. "My lady, your arm," he said nodding toward me.

I look down at the bloody bandage on my arm. I had not changed the bandages of my wound made by Witch-King since I was dismissed from the Houses of Healing.

"Allow me," he said picking up a few bottle and bandages. I followed him outside.

We sat on a bench, and I offered my arm to him. "Amongst all your concern for others, you haven't tended to yourself."

I felt unsure how to speak with him. The only thing I felt for Aragorn was coldness. I had built a stone wall between me and him. My words always came out hollow and indignant. Now, as he took my arm gently and began smoothing ointment on my wound, I could not bring myself to be harsh. I wanted to look away, but I did not want him to think I resented his refusal to be with me. I wanted him to know I was stronger than that—and that I no longer hoped for a dream he had once crushed.

"Yes, I have been busy."

Aragorn nodded his head. "You have healed more than any other healer. I never knew your knowledge in herbs was so extensive." When he finished, he placed my arm on my lap.

"What use am I when all the men are off to war? I study night and day when so that I may put use to these hands."

A woman quickly burst through the door with a worried expression on her face. "My lord, Aragorn…it's Faramir…he's…he's just past on." She bowed her head.

Aragorn quickly stood up and walked into the Houses of Healing. I did not know Faramir, except that he had a wound similar to mine; it was his spirit that needed healing as well as his body. Aragorn saw the stillness of Faramir's body and fell to his knees in defeat. Aragorn placed his hand over Faramir's heart and sigh heavily.

"He was groaning. I tried to help and he went still…" the trembling voice of the healer came from outside the door. She had not moved. I wondered if this was her first experience with death.

"My lord," I said with a determination in my voice. "May I?"

Aragorn stood up and I knew I hadn't much time. I pulled a few leaves from my herb bag, placed them across Faramir's forehead and pressed on them. With another hand on Faramir's pierced shoulder, I closed my eyes and focused. Despite the heat in the room, I felt a shiver run down my spine. Warm tears dropped freely down my cheeks and my breathing became ragged. I had to focus and set my resolve to not fail: I knew I was feeling Faramir's pain and now that I felt it, I tried to heal it. I pushed the darkness away and focused on the light. I was only interrupted when a deep gasp brought me out of my reverie. I opened my eyes to see Faramir's chest rise and fall heavily. I knew he would need constant healing or he would suffer the fate he had experienced only moments ago. Right now, I had to focus on the physical infliction.

"He needs new bandages," I said. I noticed the woman was beside me now, and she quickly bent down to tend Faramir. "Steam this in hot water and make him drink."

I tried to raise myself, but Aragorn offered his hand. I placed mine shakily in his, and he lifted me up. I felt weary from Faramir's pain, which had been more intense than any I had felt. I looked up and blinked away my tears. I saw Aragorn's shocked face, his mouth slightly open in astonishment.

"Eowyn…"


	2. The Battlefield

_**Editor's Note**: Sorry it has taken so long to update. I was in college when I first started this story, and now that I have graduated and settled down with a job I plan on writing more often if there is still interest in it. Thank you for reading!_

...

...

...

I was sitting on my bed, staring blankly at the wall. I kept seeing Aragorn's face, eyes wide and expression unreadable. These did not seem like faces that were thankful for saving Faramir's life. Aragorn had asked, in a voice softer than I had ever heard him speak, "How did you-"

I had moved my lips to answer, but no voice came out. How could I explain what I had learned? What I was capable of? I was as stunned as they were. I had not brought a man back from the dead before. The book had taught me how to heal, to bring a person back from near death. Not death itself. I absently caressed my fingers across the black leather-bound book. The leather was dirty and worn, and the pages were tinged with yellow and nearly falling out of the binding. A soft knock resonated through my chambers, sending my heart racing. I placed the book inside my knapsack and under my bed. I took a deep breath and told myself I did nothing wrong. I have nothing to be nervous about. When I opened the door I was greeted by the face of my uncle. His hair sprouted random gray hairs, and his face seemed tired and worn as if a dark shadow was lurking near. "Uncle Theoden," I said bowing my head slightly.

"Interesting news has reached my ears from the soldiers…" He began, his voice weary. He walked over to the bed and sat down slowly on the edge. "They say you brought Faramir back from the dead. What are these mad rumors that have caught storm across my halls?"

"I do not know what happened, my Lord."

The smile suddenly vanished as he realized there was more to the story than what wild imaginations had conjured. "So, it is true? Eowyn, what happened?"

I raised my head to meet his eyes. I felt like a child being rebuked, and a guilty pang stabbed at my chest. "I did bring him…_back_." I could barely speak the final word. The very taste of the word felt like bile in my mouth.

"H-How did you do this? Is this what you've been at all this time in the Houses of Healing?"

"I have healed, but I have never done this!"

"How? How did you bring Faramir to life again?" he repeated.

"When a soldier is brought to me I can purge the ailment from his body. I place my hands on them and channel their pain. I make it my own and I heal it. But I had not brought someone back before after they had passed. This was my first, and I regret doing such a thing."

"Regret?" Theoden's eyes were bright, as if the shadow that had troubled him was gone. "My dear niece, you have a gift. A gift! The great Illuvatar has blessed these hands." He walked over to me, his steps lighter than I had ever seen them. He took my hands in his and kissed each one.

I felt a small smile on my lips, a fake smile. Illuvatar had not blessed my hands. I had learned everything from a book. But did that mean what I was doing was wrong?

"Eowyn, when the army leaves for the battle at Osgiliath, you must go. You can aid the soldiers at night while they battle by day. We can win this war, yet."

Go to battle with the men?

"Will you do this for me, Eowyn?"

"Yes. I will."

* * *

After packing my knapsack, I prepared my hair in a loose braid for the long night ahead. I decided to wear a loose brown gown, wanting to blend as much as possible with the men. I wrapped my arms around my body, protecting myself from the cold night air. The soldiers around me seemed anxious. A few talked to their horses, while others huddled close to each other in whispers. I knew Aragorn would be joining the party of soldiers, but I kept my eyes averted from the gate. I reached inside my knapsack and let my body relax when my fingers touched the hard binding.

"We ride to Osgiliiath!" I stole a glance toward the gate and saw a man in silver armor and long blonde hair. He held his sword high in the air. "We ride through the night!"

Behind him Aragorn sat on his horse, and his stature seemed relaxed. He was dressed in his usual ranger outfit, but there was something different about him. His eyes were downcast instead of held high. I mounted my horse, and waited for the end of the ranks before following. We rode hard at first. Every muscle in my body ached, and my head felt numb enduring the wind whirling past my ears all night. I was thankful when the front ranks began to slow, but even as my horse gait slowed, pain still shot through my back. I had never ridden so long and so hard.

"My lady?"

Startled out of my thoughts, I quickly glanced up to see Aragorn riding alongside my horse.

"I apologize, my lord. Did you say something?"

"No, but you seemed deep in thought. I was wondering how you are fairing?"

"What do you mean?" I flashed an empty smile, feeling slightly belittled by his accusation that I might not be fairing very well at all. Did he think the ride too hard for someone like me?

"You ride behind the others," he said, his voice low. His voice did not have the usual authority that it usually when I would hear him speak. It was soft and doubtful. It seemed small and tired, and I felt a little guilty for smirking at his genuine concern.

"No, my lord. I'm fine, thank you."

"Faramir—"

The back of my neck prickled at the name. The confidence and strength I had talking with Aragorn vanished and I quickly turned my gaze toward my hands. He let Faramir's name drop, unable or unsure how to continue further.

"King Theoden has brought you here to heal?"

I kept my gaze forward and gave him a small "yes." I wondered why I felt suddenly small and weak under his gaze. Why did I have to justify the healing of innocent people? There was a long stretch of silence, and I was unsure what to say. So I said nothing at all.

"Ready yourself, men!" the voice boomed like thunder. "Ready for attack."

I wanted to voice my concern for attacking after such a hard ride. Wouldn't it be more prudent resting the night and attack before dawn? I knew these words would be scoffed at and ignored as simply women's words, so I stayed silent. At least the cover of darkness helped ease the trepidation for the scene ahead.

I involuntarily looked at Aragorn, and met his eyes. He quickly jumped from his horse and pulled a knife from his boot. "Take this."

"I have a weapon," I said slowly dismounting my horse.

"You will need it if your sword gets knocked from your hands. Hide it somewhere safe."

I took the knife from his hand and held it tightly in my palm. I suddenly felt naked and vulnerable. I had fought on Pelennor Field only a few weeks before, but for this I felt anxious and unprepared.

"Do not worry. You are not here to fight, and the men here will protect you," he said reassuringly.

"I will fight." I said

"You are not geared," he said urgently.

"Then I will fight at a distance." I took a bow from the back-up stack of weapons that were tied to a few of the horses and joined the other men.

* * *

Before we had left for battle the captain had informed us to prepare for the worst; even they were unsure of the foes that were ahead. Many speculated that the enemy had left from the battle of Pelennor Fields to regroup at a distance, far beyond Osgiliath. But they had left a band of Orcs to detract any army from following the defeated Dark Lord's army.

I was not too nervous for battle at Pelennor Fields because I had relied on my adrenaline and need for survival. I had not time to think, or worry, or be afraid once I came in contact with the enemy. I simply killed.

I was not prepared for this. The anxiety of watching men die while I looked on in safety. I was stationed behind pillars, up above any orc's reach. They would not use their arrows on me since they were engaged in close combat. I knew I was safe, and I had killed many orcs with my bow. I had prevented myself from screaming out when I would see an orc catching a man unaware. Or calling out when I would see an injured man crawling around in confusion, trying to get out of the battle.

I had tried to keep as many safe with my arrows. When the orcs's forces dwindled, I jumped from my perch on the rocks and decided I would begin pulling the men away from the battle. I had my knife and used it twice on an unexpecting orc who was engaged in combat with another. It was nightfall before the men had entirely purged Osgiliath of all the orcs.

I had not been able to bring back any from the dead. I could not bring myself to it with the sinking feel in my stomach. I comforted myself with the that I could only bring someone back if they had just fallen into death, though I was unsure if this was true or not. I tended the severely injured, letting the other men help with injures that were not life-threatening.

"My lady." I had heard it, but the voice was so soft it had not registered in the chaos of my thoughts. "My lady," it came a little louder. I turned around to see a man biting his lips in anguish, an old man lay at his feet.

"It is my father," he said, as if that settled everything. He had such pain in his eyes, that I dropped to my knees at the old man's head. I placed my palms on the old man's forehead and closed my eyes.

"I told him-I told him...but he didn't want me going alone. I told him he was too old for battle."

I placed my finger over my lips to signal to him I needed quiet. When I finally reached out to the old man, I could feel the pain in his body and the anguish in his mind. I reconciled the thoughts of fear with gentle worlds. I crunched a few nightshade petals into a bottle for water and eased it into his bloody mouth. His eyes flickered and I knew he would be all right.

"He is resting now. He will be fine." I said standing up.

He gave me a nod and a small smile that offered thanks, but feared betrayal. "Thank you."

I looked around the camp in search for Aragorn. I had not seen him, but it was dark and there were a lot of men. Surely he knew where I was since all the dying were sent my way. Wouldn't he have come and seen me? I suddenly stopped myself. Why would I think he would come and see me?

Suddenly, Aragorn's words sounded in my head: "It is but a shadow and a thought that you love." My stomach tightened. I had never given myself openly to a man before, but I did on that night, on the eve of battle. He had left me shattered and vulnerable. I would stay strong, and I would not crumble under the simple whim of a man again.

I turned around and jumped at the sight of Aragorn behind me. "Oh." I said, a little embarrassed, hoping my expression would not betray my thoughts. "Uh-"

"I knew you have not had a break," he said handing me a platter of bread and a mug of some dark liquid.

"Thank you." I sat down and leaned against a nearby wall. Aragorn sat across from me. What was he playing at here? Is he just being nice? Does he pity me-feel sorry for me for breaking my heart? I would not let him pity me. Perhaps he just wants to be a friend. I decided I would be equally nice, but nothing more.

"It is incredible," he said, as if he were responding to some conversation he was having inside his head.

"Hm?" I said, with a mouthful of bread.

"Your healing."

"Thank you." I said, feeling awkward at having taken his remark as a compliment, as if he had told me he admired my circlet. I decided to change the subject.

"Are you injured?" I asked.

"No," he said. "Eowyn-your hands."

I looked down, but I knew what he was referring to. My hands had been shaking after my first few heals. I would often heal so long I would collapse in the Houses of Healing of pain and fatigue. But when I awoke, I would be fine. I tested my limits then, and knew when I needed to leave for fresh air or to rest. I had not been able to do that here. There was no one here to take my station as there was in the Houses of Healing.

"It is nothing." I laughed. The last thing I was worried about were shaking hands. What about the twitching in my legs? The tight muscles in my shoulders? The dizziness in my head and the blur in my vision that made me feel as if I were walking in a dream? "It happens."

"The healing wearies you?" I could not tell if the interrogation came from curiosity or concern.

"Yes." I said simply.

"I am sorry," he said looking down at his knuckles. I had never seen him before like this. He seemed so unsure of himself.

"Sorry for what?"

"That this causes you such pain. King Theoden had asked about your healing Faramir, and I told him everything I had seen. If I had known he would send you off to this mission. I would have said nothing.

"I can handle this," I said my voice strong. "I healed three days once, only taking occasional breaks when I grew weary. I do not think I slept but ten minutes once when I was picking herbs." I had thought my story would show my strength, but the sudden crease of Aragorn's eyebrows only made me feel as I were some victim.

"You must take care of yourself, Eowyn."

"I am," I said indignantly, although my declaration did not hold much weight against my previous story.

He looked toward the other men in the camp. A few were sleeping. Most were sitting in groups and talking.

"Aragorn-is there something you wish to tell me? You seem troubled."

"I just worry about you."

I felt a lump in my throat. I was ready for anything but this. I would remain strong.

"Do you mean you fear sadness for me over being rejected?" I said, managing a laugh to note good humor. But the laugh came out pathetic, and so did the words. They seemed cold.

"I have feared sadness for you the moment I first saw you." He let the words hang in the musty air, and I sat silent, unsure how to respond. "I wish I could tell you what I truly feel, but it is impossible. I have been taught that duty comes first and I have hoped my entire life to avoid what is now my goal. But I must pursue it for hope of a better world."

"What is this goal?" I decided to be blunt, to understand the heart of the matter. Why bring up these feelings of fearing sadness for me then speak in such vague words?

"To become King. To create an alliance between men and elves through the marriage of Arwen. When I was younger, Elrond had foreseen this world and our happy marriage. When I knew I would be leaving Rivendell, and I hoped to sever the ties with Arwen. But it was not reciprocated. Now I struggle with duty and what is in my heart."

I stopped chewing my bread. I couldn't manage eye contact with Aragorn. I could only strain to listen over the throbbing in my temples and the blood pounding in my ears. What is he trying to say? Why must he speak in such vague terms? Why must he always be a mystery? I felt my fingernails cutting sharply against my palms, what was left of my bread crumbled tightly in my fist. I struggled to get up, to walk away from this confusing battlefield. When I pulled myself up, my legs strained to hold my weight, and I felt a blackness engulf me. I felt myself falling, falling forever into an abyss of confusion and nonexistence.


	3. Falling Apart

Her eyes were as dark as her hair. She offered her white hand to me, wanting to help me off the ground. I do not remember how I fell, but I accepted her aid. Her eyes never left mine and as she pulled me up closer to her I noticed that her eyes were endless depths. Her grip tightened. The pain coursed up my arm and when I tried to step back the pain increased as her grip tightened and tightened.

Her face remained composed and gentle. I could push her, fight her so that I could break free of her violent grip. But I knew she was untouchable. Somehow I knew I would have to stand there until my bones snapped; only then would I be free to run from her grip.

We stood there staring at each other. Her gaze determined and forceful, while mine looked around for an escape-my body shaking for fear of something, for fear of her.

* * *

I opened my eyes to meet darkness. I stared at the ceiling, blinking until my vision cleared. I pushed myself up, ignoring the heaviness in my head. It was night. It was quiet. When I looked down at my hands I was not surprised to see them splotched with dirt and with blood caked underneath my fingernails. But then I remembered they were not from the torture by the spotless hands of the woman from my dream. They were from the men I healed, and that I was sitting within the broken foundations of Osgiliath. I looked around at the darkness, the stars reflecting off the lumps of men scattered across the ground.

"Good. You are awake."

I looked over to see a man walking toward me—the man whose father I had saved at some point. I wasn't sure how long ago that was. He handed me a bowl of water to wash my face and hands. "How is your father?" I asked, my throat dry.

"Alive," he chuckled. "But more importantly, how are you? I hear you took a nasty fall."

"Fall?" The last thing I remember was talking to Aragorn-talking to him about his duty? Choosing between his heart and duty. It all came back to me in a rush of images. Aragorn fingering the loose threads of his cloak-unsure of himself. I had never seen him like that.

"Yes, you fell and hit your head. Don't you remember?" he said, picking up a stick and poking at a nearby fire with it.

"No, I don't." I felt my head, but there was no lump. Then I felt a stab of pain from my temples. My finger came away with sticky blood.

"Aragorn has been sitting with you most of the night."

"Where is he?" I asked.

"I do not know. He told me to watch over you and keep the fire up. We make for the Crossing Roads in the morning. You should rest."

I nodded my head slowly wanting to do anything but rest, to go anywhere but back to my dreams.

The image of those perfect white hands still persisted in my mind. I looked down at my own, dirty and tinted from the sun-a freckle here and there making my skin anything but pure. Her black hair a wave of silk. I absent-mindedly touched my own matted hair. I dropped the loose strand and sighed.

I wasn't going to pretend the woman in my dreams was a random figment of my imagination; I knew it was Arwen. It wasn't the first time I had compared myself to her. I had looked at my reflection countless other times, cursing the freckles that splattered my face. I had hated the curls in my hair and my inability to keep my hair straight.

I looked around and cursed my foolishness. I had more pressing worries than to be plagued with insecurities or concerns of my appearance. I had work to do.

I washed my arms in a pail of cold cloudy water and pulled my hair together with a piece of thread. I walked around the sleeping men, handing food and water to those who needed it.

I was concerned for the men who would be left here when we continued in the morning. I discovered among the chatter of the other men that scouts would be by within a day or two to pick up those too sick to carry on. Our mission was to continue pressing forward, closer to Mordor-clearing the Orcs and Uruk-Hai, and whatever else the Dark Lord has bred in the foul depths of his land. Our goal was to make the path easier for Gandalf and his company, who would fight at the Gates of Mordor.

I had asked one of the men if we would be joining them when the final battle took place and he scoffed. I am still just a woman to some of the men. A man had bowed to me and apologized for the behavior of some of the soldiers. He could not explain to me why some of the men did not want me here, as he did not know himself. He told me that by allowing a clearer path for soldiers who would be fighting at the Gates of Mordor, we were providing them with less resistance and therefore greater strength when the final battle took place; our participance at the final battle was trivial.

I thanked him for the information and fed him some herbal water to help him sleep and returned to my camp-well, it wasn't really my camp so much as the camp I woke up in. When I approached the campfire, I recognized Aragorn on the other side of the flames. I stood there for a moment, wondering if he could around the campfire. I wanted to walk away.

He stood up and bowed. I nodded my head and walked over to my mat. I had planned to place the covers over myself and feign sleep but Aragorn followed me, handing me a plate of some kind of meat.

"I could only find rabbit," he said simply.

"Thank you," I said, and I sat there dumbly as I chewed my food.

"Eowyn."

My heart throbbed, blood pumping through my veins. I did not know what caused such fear and anxiety in me-was it the unknown? Was it not knowing what stood between us?

"Hm?" I said, hoping to maintain nonchalance.

"I am sorry."

"Sorry?" I asked.

"The words I spoke. I should have kept them to myself. I-Eowyn..."

My first response was confusion, then pity. He seemed pained and confused and I did not know what to say or how to help.

"I do not know where we stand."

"But I do," he said, looking into my eyes. I looked away, then down at my hands. "I do know. And I can do nothing."

"You love someone else. It is clear that-"

"No, it is not love." He ran his fingers through his hair and stood. I thought I knew love, but I had confused it with duty."

"And what now?" I said, sounding desperate. "I will not sit idly by while you choose what you call duty-which is simply another woman-and myself. I will not!"

I stood up and walked past him, but I felt his cold and weathered hand take my wrist. I quickly turned around as he closed the space between us, his arms folded around my shaking body.

The anger I felt dissipitated and I felt a fear take hold. The fear to be susceptible to Aragorn, to feel pleasure and protection in his arms. I did not want him to have this power over me. "No..." I choked.

He quickly released his grip. "I am sorry."

Emptyness. I felt cold and empty as he walked away.

* * *

I watched the sun slowly creep up. I could not sleep and at the first sounds of men rustling, I began gathering my things into my knapsack. I had spent most of the night mulling over my book, preparing myself for the day. I knew that the closer we were to Mordor, the more dangerous things would be.

We walked all day. Only a few horses remained, and it was used to carry supplies or a few men who needed the rest. I was asked twice to be let on so that I could rest. I said no. Despite the lack of sleep, I felt energized. I attributed it to the andrenaline.

When the darkness began to engulf our path before us, I wondered when we would be resting but we continued. I wondered if we were lost, or if we had not met our destination. I decided not to ask. I had not seen Aragorn all day, but with hundreds of men it was easy to avoid him.

As voices began to rise, I kept my gaze down at my feet, assuming the men were conversing our next plan of action but the voices continued and became more pressing. I looked up and saw confused faces and the men begin to scatter. I looked around but I knew the men were just as confused I was. Once I branched out from the crowd, I could see up ahead and what appeared to be a battle. It was an ambush.

The enemies began rushing out of the shadows. They were armed with spears and their faces were painted with red ink. With only moonlight aiding our steps, it was difficult to determine friend from foe. I had no sword, but I pulled out Aragorn's knife that I had strapped to my boot. I tried to stay near our men, but they were not concerned with aiding another. I do not think a single one even took notice of me except to distinguish me from foe. I decided I was on my own.

I stepped back further down the path, since the enemies appeared to be coming from the front. As I was walking away and avoiding the battle then it happened. One made eye contact with me. He bolted toward me as I stood paralyzed with fear; I was going to die. My small knife against his spear was no challenge. As he neared close enough, I hurled my knife toward the running man and caught him in the shoulder. I cried out in desperation. I had aimed for his throat.

I shuttered a cry as he pulled the knife out of his shoulder and collided into me, his spear barely touching my chest.

"Now, now. What do we have here?" His pained expression from his earlier injury was now a grin. "A woman?" he hissed into my ear as he pulled my hair backward, revealing my neck. I could feel his spittle dripping down my neck as he cackled.

He picked me up and ran. I had no idea where he was taking me. It felt like only a few seconds before he threw me to the ground. I screamed, knowing that the men could not be far off. Were they still fighting? Were they all dead?

The man still had that stupid grin on his face as he looked down at me. He threw his spear to the side. This was my chance. As soon as I began to regain my balance and run, he was on top of me. I kicked him in the stomach and I clawed his face. He continued to grin and cackle as if he found enjoyment at my desperation; that is, until I clawed his eye.

His face turned red to match the color of his warpaint. He grabbed the front of my clothes, picked me up, and shoved me into the ground. I was breathless, trying to regain air into my lungs. I thought he was killing me, until he gave up and with air in my lungs again, I realized he was trying to rip off my clothes.

I stopped resisting and moved my head to the side, seeing his sword. I was dead to everything but that sword, which I reached as far as I could for. Almost...almost...my fingers barely touched it. I grabbed a large rock and was able to move the sword an inch closer, just enough to grab it. I began to hear the threads ripping just as I pluged the sword into his neck. Blood poured onto my face and neck and he screamed into my ears, a scream I will never forget.

My body could not move and I lay there looking up at the moon, my body shaking, cluthing the sword, my only protection. I do not know how long I was there before the face entered my vision.

"My lady!"

He helped me up. I had not seen his face before, but I knew he was not an enemy and that is all that I cared.

"Help!" he cried, and within a few minutes others rushed up to me. They stood there, gawking, mouths open. I watched their eyes look over my body, so I looked down to see my gown shredded-not enough to show too much skin, and yet I felt naked under their prying eyes.

"What?" I screamed, anger in my voice. "What are you staring at?"

"I'm sorry-I just-what can we do? Are you okay, my lady? What can we do?" One of the men asked, in a rush of questions.

"This is why we don't have women on the battleground." The bald man from before. I knew he did not like me, but to shame me further was insulting. I stood there stupidly, and speechless.

"She has healed many man and sacrified herself for others. How dare you!" said one of the men.

"She healed me and I was near death!" shouted one.

"Healed with what? Those little bottle of herbs? We've all seen her with her nose in that book. If I'm near death then let me die. I'd rather die than be a victim to dark magic!"

"What is she doing with that sword," said one, pointing at me.

Suddenly, the chatter errupted with bursts of shouts. Dark magic and witch are words that caught my ear.

I turned away from the crowd, wanting to be anywhere but here. I wanted to be alone. Then I saw Aragorn's face. His eyes wide and mouth open. He stood there staring at me. I stared back.

He took a step toward me, then the shouting caught his ear. He looked up over my shoulder just as a man called out "Should have just left her to die in her own filth!"

Aragorn moved so fast that by the time I turned around, the bald man was on the ground clutching his bloody nose. Aragorn stood beside him, looking around at the others. "Anyone else?" His voice was loud, angry.

I began walking away. I was not sure where. I wanted to be alone, so all I knew was that it was away.

"Why?"

I heard the voice behind me, but it was not unexpected. I stopped and turned around. I stared blankly at Aragorn.

"Why did I leave you?" His voice shook and his face was pale. He took my hand, and I realized that I was still clutching the broken sword I had used to impale a man. He peeled my fingers away and threw the sword to the ground. He looked back at me as if expecting an answer. "Eowyn, I am so sorry."

"I just want to get cleaned up," I said, with what little strength I had left.

"Not out here," he said looking out into the distance for any potential threats. "We'll find you a camp..."

I nod my head and follow him. I try to avoid the staring eyes as Aragorn leads me through the crowds. We come upon one of the tents that had juts been put up, the man appeared to be staking one of the final poles. It was one of the few tents that had flaps on it, reserved for the captian's or people of higher authority.

He pulled one of the tent flaps up and I stepped inside. There was a few mats on the ground, and a bucket of water for washing. "I'll be back," he said, looking into my eyes as if making a promise.

I walked in, afraid that at any moment the owner of the tent would walk in. I comforted myself with the thought that Aragorn had went to ask for possession of the tent. Or that perhaps this was his.

I sat down in front of the washing bin and dampened the washcloth. As I began scrubbing my bloody arms I noticed the red cuts that marked my forearm. My blood was mingled with the blood of the man I had killed. I remembered the hot spittle that ran down my neck and quickly scrubbed at it. Then, I curled up and cried.

* * *

I jumped awake, suddenly realizing that someone was touching my arm. "Aragorn?" He held my arm in his lap, cleaning the caked blood with a washcloth.

"I am sorry," he said, handing my arm back to me and placing the washcloth in the bin. I sat up, wiping my tear-stained face, and I began cleaning my arms.

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

Silence.

"Eowyn..."

"What do you think happened?" I laughed. I had cried myself to sleep and I had no more tears to give. I was attacked, slammed into the ground and almost had my clothes ripped from my body. I was lucky enough to kill the man before he killed me.

Aragorn placed his face in his hands, shaking his head. All anger dissipated. "Aragorn, I'm sorry. It's just..."

He looked up. "No, Eowyn. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't find you this morning."

I continued scrubbing my arms, neck, and face. "I found you some makeshift clothes, so that we could clean and stitch your own."

"Thank you." I said, taking the shirt and pants. They were a little big, but I figured they would fit.

"I'll be outside. Let me know when you're finished changing."

I nodded my head. When he left I changed my clothes and decided to wash my hair in the basin. When I was done I called Aragorn back in, but he did not come in, so I decided to wash my clothes and hang them outside on a line to dry.

"So moving up in the line of authority?"

I turned around to see a soldier with greasy black hair.

"I wonder how you managed to move up so quickly," he smirked. I felt awkward standing there in these baggy clothes, my pants rolled up and my dress and undergarments hanging on a line for him to see. "I don't know what you're referring to."

"Listen, I don't know what you think you're doing here. But we know," he moved closer to me and I could smell the stench of his breath. "We know your wicked ways, you enchantress!"

He walked away, only turning back to give me a final look of disgust. I walked back inside and sat curled up on one of the mats. Aragorn returned a few moments later. He handed me soup and bread and walked over to the other side of the tent.

"Aragorn? Is this your tent?"

"Yes." he said simply. "I had let the other men use it until now. I thought you would want the privacy."

I looked down at my soup, thinking about the man outside and his words about my being an enchantress and moving up in the line of authority. So these men really thought I was some servant of the Dark Lord? And that I was imposing my will on the men? What did they want of me? I was here to heal. Did they want me to let the others die? Did they want me to leave?

"I will be sleeping outside," he said quickly.

"Oh, no, it's not that. I just...I was just thinking." I finished my soup and pulled a blanket over my shoulders. "Aragorn?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"Will you stay in here, instead?"


	4. The Fair Elf

My eyes opened and I quickly glanced around the room. Gone were the days of restful sleep and waking up with a body and mind eager for the day ahead. Since my journey had begun, my eyes snap open at night for fear of ever being caught off-guard. I would wake up with a body sore and aching and a mind exhausted for what the day would bring.

When I glanced around the room I noticed Aragorn sitting near, his back against a tent pole. My heart raced. I wondered how long he had been there and if he had slept in that position all night.

I tried to pull myself up but my body was sore from yesterday's battle. I looked down at myself underneath the new light of the sun and noticed scratches and gashes across my skin. I decided to quickly dress and make haste out of the room before Aragorn had a chance to wake up. I had never fallen asleep in a room with another man before, save for my brother, and I was anxious to leave before he noticed.

I snatched my clothes from outside the line on the tent and returned inside, thankful that the warm night air had dried the clothes. I dressed as fast as I could into my blue shift, awkwardly covering myself while I changed attire. I attempted to step into my over-dress made of wool before hearing the words-

"Eowyn?"

I gasped and stepped backward as I tried to cover myself. I felt the tent flap envelope me before spitting me out to the ground outside. I regained my balance to see men staring at me, some laughing while some shook their heads in disapproval as I pulled up my dress over my torso and stepped back inside, fumbling at the threading to tighten the dress.

"I am sorry. I wanted you to know I was awake-but I didn't think- I thought you were dressed." Aragorn stumbled over his words.

"No, I was. I just. I." I could not explain the embarrassment. I had been mostly dressed in my shift, after all. Yet, Aragorn's eyes bearing down on me caused a wave of uncertainty and insecurity. "Your voice startled me is all."

"I apologize. You could have asked me to leave if you needed privacy."

I nodded my head. When I looked up he had a smile on his face. The insecurity vanished. "What is so amusing?"

He stifled his smile and looked down to the floor. He had a bashfulness about him that I had never seen before. He seemed almost unsure of himself as he looked up to meet my gaze again. "You are most different from-" he stopped for a short, but noticeable moment "-other women."

I felt a knot in my throat. Different from whom…Arwen? The image of Arwen in Aragorn's arms, the two looking into each other's gaze, forever destined to be with one another, flashed through my mind as it often did. I wanted to escape the tent. Walk away from him and all that would never be. But I saw a sadness in his smile.

"Are you saying you've never fallen out of a tent before?" I mustered an indignant tone.

"Well, there was a time I misjudged the location of the tent flap. Does that count?"

I laughed. I had not seen him smile like that before, and I wanted to stand there forever, laughing and smiling. But as suddenly as the moment came, it vanished.

"My lord?" a voice came from outside the tent. Aragorn stepped outside the tentft the tent for only a moment before returning to tell me we would be leaving at noon. "There's food. Eat before we leave and I'll come find you once we start moving."

* * *

I found a man stirring a pot over a fire, and I met him just in time to receive the leftovers of the pot. I wanted to hide in the tent until Aragorn returned; but I assumed the tent would need to be rolled up and packed onto one of the horses, so I braved the dismayed faces and the embarrassment I felt for tumbling out of the tent like some sort of barmaid. For that moment I was not the shield-maiden of Rohan. I was a joke to these men.

"It's very good," I said to the man who had served me a bowl of stew. He looked pleased.

"I would say you are being polite, but this is quite a good batch of stew," he said, laughing at his own bluntness. I smiled, happy to have a member of the camp who didn't eye me with suspicion. "Take heart. I'll make more tonight, wherever that may be. Maybe you can get more than the lining of the pot."

He picked up his pot and started to walk away. When he moved, I noticed a group of men in the distance standing near three mounds of dirt. I stood up. "Wait-what has happened?"

The cook looked back at me in confusion, so I pointed to the mounds of dirt. "Has someone died?"

"Oh, they passed in the night."

"I was not called?"

He frowned and shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry, my lady. I know no more than that."

I walked over to the men standing around the mounds of dirt, anger swelling in my chest. "I beg your pardon."

Two of the men turned around, the rest continued talking amongst each other. "These men passed in the night. Why was I not called?"

"What makes you think you are to be called?" He folded his arms across his chest. The other man walked away, apparently wanting nothing to do with the argument-or with me.

"Because that is my duty. I am here to heal."

"Heal with witch-craft? We want none of it!" His voice was loud.

"It's not witch-craft!"

"You learn from that ragged black book. Will you honestly claim innocence?"

I put my hands behind me, palming for the book in my knapsack. I felt a sudden unexplainable fear-the fear that they knew the knowledge's source. "Of course, I learn from a book. It is where most knowledge originates. That does not make it evil."

"You cannot fool us with your sweet words," One of the men stepped up from behind. "You cannot enchant us as you do Aragorn."

"Enchant? I have enchanted no one!" I said, feeling cornered. "I only want to do my duty. Nothing else. I want to heal the wounded. Why else would I be called here?"

"I can think of a few uses," one man said. The men around him chuckled. The laughing grew louder and I walked away, realizing the futileness of the conversation.

I returned to the fire, which was now only a faint flame. I wanted to return home. I felt like an idiot for having thought I would belong in a group of battle-ready men. I would never be respected. I would never have a duty of importance. I would return home and walk the lonely halls until a man married me for my lineage, and we would grow old together behind the walls of the castle. Being and doing nothing more. That was my fate.

I felt the log rock as someone sat next to me. I looked up to see Aragorn, except it wasn't the Aragorn I had left earlier that morning. He wore a blue velvet tunic and a few strands of his hair were braided and pulled back. I could smell a mixture of cotton and forest on him.

"Ready to move out?" he asked, kicking some dirt over the fire with his heel.

I nodded my head. "Yes."

"What troubles you?"

The fire was faint, but I could still see the flickering flames in the reflection of his eyes. "Three men died in the night because the men refuse to let me heal them. They think I'm a witch."

"I attended a meeting this morning. We'll be stopping at Forland before night, a little refuge not far up the road-" His words hung in the air, and I knew he had more to say, so I sat in silence until he finally began.

"I have been told of the restlessness of the men with your healing. I have declared that the man shall have choice in his fate and if he seeks healing he cannot be denied it as might have happened last night."

My gaze returned to the fire.

"It is all I can do, as I can not force a man aid if he does not want it."

"I know." I stood up. "I just wonder if I am better off leaving. I am no use here and the men hate men. They think I'm a witch and I'll be lucky if they don't kill me in the night."

"The men who talk loudest only talk loud to be heard. They have very little to say. Many still believe in you, they just keep quiet."

I stood there for a moment, not convinced.

"What if you leave and I'm speared through the heart? Will you leave me to die?"

I stood for a moment, caught off-guard by his declaration of needing me. Declaration? Who am I kidding? He's joking. He doesn't need me.

I laughed. "Oh, alright. I'll stay."

He took my hand in his. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

* * *

The ride was long and hard. We were wanting to reach Forland before nightfall and it appeared to be a greater distance than at first assumed. We had no breaks, and my back was sore from the constant bouncing of the horse. When we finally caught sight of the tower, motivation carried us the rest of the way.

When we began approaching Forland, Aragorn caught up to me. "Larger than you expected?"

"Yes." I had seen Forland on a few maps and had heard talk of it. I had always assumed it was a small town, but the tall building before me was made of stone. Even a few of the houses in the outskirts of the building was made of stone.

"Forland is a city that likes to be kept off the map-rarely do they involve themselves in the politics or the aid of this country, so the city is often not talked about. But they have allowed us to stay tonight."

The idea of a bath, warm bed, decent meal, and possibly some privacy from the men was appealing. "Sounds wonderful."

When we arrived at the steps leading to the great hall, we began dismounting our horses for the men to take to the stables. Aragorn reached out his hand to help me and I barely heard the soft voice over the sound of my feet hitting the ground.

"Aragorn."

I looked behind me to see the woman who had spoke. She had long black hair with no strand out of place. Her face had a pale light about it and her eyes were dark and mysterious. She stood tall and proud, her white dress delicately draped across her body and pooled around her feet. As my mind registered all her perfections, I knew this was the woman from my dreams. This was Arwen.


End file.
